


All the Professor's Men

by Thatkindoffangirl



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 5 chapters of porn, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Chapter 4 might be a bit dubcon, Charles for all, ENJOY IT, F/M, Foursome - M/M/M/M, I don't know there's just so much stuff in here, M/M, Sex on Furniture, Shibari, Verbal Humiliation, Wine play, all for Charles, and stuff, don't cringe on me, like all kind of sex, mostly BDSM like sex, no seriously, one is hetero, they have sex ok?, very kinky sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindoffangirl/pseuds/Thatkindoffangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Charles is the x-men's whore, and Erik doesn't like it a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shaw

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UtterlySorbine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UtterlySorbine/gifts).



> Lead·er (/ˈlēdər/) n. 1. The person who leads or commands a group, organization, or country. 2. A conductor of a band or small musical group. 3. A person followed by others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing to know about this universe is that Shaw wasn't involved with Erik in the camp, or at least Erik doesn't remember him.

At first, Erik freezes. The door swings closed behind him, the man bent over the oak desk ( _cheeks flushed, pants down the ankles, brown hair stuck to his face_ ) snaps his head up in surprise and Erik stands still as his brain fails to come to terms with what his eyes see: papers scattered on the floor, a desk lamp lies fallen on its side and another person ( _older appearance, pants barely open, cock buried in the man below him_ ) looks at him and bows; he smirks, and Erik stands as that man bends forward, tugs the other up to his lips and says: “Look, Charles, there’s a line now.”

Charles has barely enough time to glance at Erik before he is pushed back on the desk, his arm bent further behind his back as the man thrusts forward into him. Without thinking, Erik charges forward, fists clenched, but he hasn't taken more than a couple of steps when he stops. His muscles relax, his expression softens and he quietly goes back to lean on the wall, his arms folded on his chest.

“Thank you,” the man laughs in Charles’ ear, making him shiver visibly.

Erik clenches his teeth. Rage rises again in his stomach, dimmer but still powerful enough for it to lurch.

 _‘It’s alright’_ , a soothing voice in Erik’s brain assures him, _‘just stay there and wait until he’s gone’._

He doesn’t question it. The man rises again, hoisting the other up with him, and this time Erik doesn’t even flinch.

“Put on a nice show, will you?” the man asks, burying his mouth in Charles’ hair. “Show him how you like this, you _useless whore_.”

His hips slam forward. Charles’ body bends under the pressure, and he straightens himself, avoiding a fall: his whole body shivers as small drops of sweat form on it; his only free arm, the one holding him up, grows more and more unsteady with each thrust; his breath builds up incessantly – ragged at first, then drowned in moans. He hides his face in shame, but the man tugs him up again.

“Don’t!” he says. “Let him watch: I didn’t invite him in for nothing.”

Slowly, Charles obeys. He turns his head to Erik, his lust-glazed eyes looking right through him as the other stares back transfixed. His lips move to speak, but his own voice fails him. Soon, he is pushing back on the man’s cock and everything else is forgotten.

“God,” the man says in a growl, and sinks his fingers further into Charles’ wrist and head. “You really are a whore.”

Charles does not answer. He closes his eyes, riding faster against him.

“Are you not?” the man insists, tugging Charles’ hair again. “Tell me! Are you?”

“I’m–” Charles’s answer is drowned in moans. “Y... Yes.”

“Then bend down like one.”

He shoves his face on the desk again, and Charles shrieks as his chest falls flat on it and his vision blurs with the sudden blow.

“Wait–” he gasps as he tries to catch breath, but the man ignores him.

He seizes him by his shirt, using the cloth to pull him up and down his cock in a hastening pace. Each of his thrusts make Charles moan even more as his hands scramble on the table for support. The pen holder falls down on the floor when he hits it without even noticing, and the man laughs as he throws his head back in his orgasm, swearing and muttering unconnected words. Suddenly, the room is silent again.

“Thank you,” the man chuckles, when his breath is again steady enough.

He doesn't even wait for an answer: he hoists Charles back up, brushes his lips on his hair as a farewell, then throws him back on the floor, where he falls with a startled wail.

“I got him ready for you,” Charles hears him say as he walks away.

The click of the door is what wakes Erik up. He jumps, suddenly startled by his surroundings: the papers are still on the floor, the lamps still knocked over the desk... he blinks, and blinks again, holding his nose between his fingers. Focus, he thinks, focus. And then it all comes back. He runs across the room, stepping on the fallen documents as he rounds the desk to find Charles sitting on the floor, turning his arm around to get blood flowing again.

“Who the hell was that?” he asks, kneeling down to face him.

Charles jumps in surprise. He gapes at him like he had forgotten he was even there, and it’s not before Erik throws him a concerned look that he actually answers.

“Shaw,” he mumbles. “He... He comes here from time to time. I told him I was waiting for someone else, but–”

“I’m sorry,” Erik interrupts him, and offers his hand to help him up again. “I should have helped you sooner. I don’t know what got into me. I just...”

“Oh,” Charles mouths embarrassed. “That was me.”

Erik’s arm goes suddenly limp. Charles stumbles with the sudden loss of support, but still manages to straighten himself up, muttering apologies as he dresses himself again.

“You?” Erik asks eventually.

“I stopped you,” Charles answers. He fumbles with his belt, trying to strike the right hole with his still shaky hands. “It’s my power. Well, one of my powers. I’m a t–”

“You stopped me?”

“Of course.”

The grim look in Erik eyes is enough to make Charles blush. He moves backward to sit on the desk, and offers the chair to Erik who sits on it without breaking eye contact.

“Do you know what our primary instinct is, Erik?” he asks, his voice suddenly more steady. “The one that evolution can never fully erase?”

“Survival,” Erik answers.

“Quite right,” Charles beams at him. He hinges on his hands, lifting himself further up so that his feet don’t reach the floor anymore. “We might have evolved in billions of years,” he smiles. “Well, you know we have.”

Erik ignores him, still piercing him with his gaze.

“We grow,” Charles continues. “We change, we morph into different beings all the time... No matter which form we take, though, we’re always driven to survival. We fight, and make alliances, and do everything it takes to keep us going.” He smiles again, and again he is ignored. “When it goes down to survival, we still rely on our instincts: we’re unevolved – we’re animals, basically – and this school... this school is our cage.”

“Do you know what happens when too many animals are stuck in a small cage, Erik?” he asks, after a pause.

Erik doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even give a sign he understands or listens.

“Animals are not made for being caged. Not in such restricted spaces, at least,” Charles continues, uncertain. “Their instincts will kick in, in the end: maybe not in one week, maybe not in one month, but at some point they will grow restless; they will need to make sure no one will revolt against them; they will need to dominate, let the others know their power; eventually, they will either kill each other, or fuck each other.”

“Is this why he was here?” Erik asks coldly. “You let people fuck you?”

“You’d be surprised how fewer fights break when people are sexually satisfied. You’ll _be_ surprised.”

Charles pauses to look at Erik. It takes so much for him to answer that Charles almost worries he is never going to.

“That is insane,” he says eventually.

“Is it, now?” Charles asks, looking at his feet dangling down the desk. “My mind protects us from the dangers outside, my body protects us from those within. I’m only doing what needs to be done.”

His tone is conclusive. Erik leans back on the chair, apparently considering his sanity.

“Anything else I should know?” he asks eventually, getting up to his feet again.

“It depends,” Charles says. ”Did Hank’s tour cover the torture room?”

Erik’s mouth falls open.

“I’m kidding,” Charles laughs. “Forgive me.”

“Good luck on your first day, Professor Lehnsherr,” he adds as the laugh dies out.

Erik answers with a small nod of his head, more out of mechanical courtesy than of his own accord. It's only when he reaches the doorknob that he speaks again.

“One last thing,” he says. He doesn’t even turn, but he knows Charles is listening. “Don’t use your powers on me, never again. Stay out of my head.”


	2. Hank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank is however you want him to be: while writing, I thought him human, but if you want him to be transformed then feel free to imagine him as such.

“What did you say that guy’s power was, Professor?”

The sudden question catches Charles by surprise. He lifts his head, briefly looking away from the papers he is collecting to find someone looking at him with a puzzled expression. Sneaking up on people was the most peculiar of Hank’s talents, and while people sometimes argued whether they should have considered it a mutation on its own, they all agreed it was as useful in battle as a nuisance outside of it.

“Magnetism,” Charles answers. “And this was not him, anyway. Shaw was here.”

The pile of papers slides from his grasp as he straightens himself back up, and a couple of sheets almost fall on the floor again. Hank is faster, though, and catches them mid air.

“Of course he was,” the boy says knowingly, handing them back.

He grins, but Charles ignores him and drops the last papers in the binder before moving on to the desk itself, scratching his head as his eyes scan around for his fountain pen.

Meanwhile, Hank walks around, browsing the room; a book from a nearby shelf catches his attention, but he has barely flipped a few pages when he puts it back.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks casually.

“He can’t do anything I don’t want him to,” Charles sighs, adjusting the fallen lamp, “and you know it.”

“That wasn’t my question, Professor,” Hank says. “I asked if he hurt you.”

This time, Charles turns. He almost jumps in surprise when he finds the boy is so close he can see his own reflection in his glasses, but he manages to keep his face straight.

“A bit,” he answers.

Hank’s grin widens. His hands travel down to Charles’ belt, work it open, but he never takes his eyes away from him as he speaks: “I bet you’d already have stopped him from doing it, Professor, if it didn’t turn you on so much,” he says.

Charles sneers. His index casually moves up, tracing the line of Hank’s neck.

“I bet you’d already have stopped calling me _Professor_ , Hank, if it didn’t turn you on so much.”

He tugs Hank by his tie, closing the gap between their bodies as he pulls both of them back to the desk. Hank yelps, and then moans as his chest hits against Charles’ and his breath is cut short. Another swift movement, and Charles firmly hold his chin between his finger, forcing their lips so close they almost touch.

“Get on your knees,” he whispers, and Hanks immediately obeys: his hands shiver in light anticipation, and his whole body tenses upwards, almost pleading as he waits for further instructions. Charles, however, simply taps his fingers on the desk and looks at him from above.

“I should really teach you some discretion, Hank,” he says.

He pushes the boy down with his foot, the sole biting on his shoulder until no more space is left between his heels and ass.

“Patience, too, since you’re so bad at it,” Charles adds.

Hank swallows. He sinks his nails further in his thighs, but says nothing and Charles grins in return.

“We don’t have much time,” he says, glancing sideways at the clock on the wall. “I hope you’ve been practicing.”

He waits for Hank to nod and moves his foot away, allowing him to rise and slide his hands all the way up to his pants before taking his cock out. His tongue travels along the length, working up from the base to the tip that he swallows whole. Slowly, he lowers his lips on the erection until he can feel its heat burning on his throat. He pushes his head further down, and the tip slips past it, its walls wrapping around Charles’ penis.

“God,” Charles says, a low, hoarse sound that escapes his lips as he throws his head backward. “You _have_ been practicing.”

As an answer, Hank lowers his head further, closing his hand at the base of Charles’ dick so that the whole length is covered. He holds it firmly, and rubs his thumb on the softer skin below, feeling the muscle tense even further. Charles’ hips jerk up involuntarily, and his hands grab the rim of the desk for support as he leans backward.  
The corners of Hank mouth twitch up in satisfaction. His tongue flattens on Charles’ cock and slowly pulls up, coating it with saliva as it slides out of his throat. He almost lets the tip escape his mouth, but Charles grabs his hair and pulls him down again. This time, Hank’s tongue circles around the length, his hand following the movements of his mouth, until Charles comes, arching his back.

Hank doesn’t notice until it’s too late: the sharp taste of semen fills his mouth, and when he pulls out the other jets land across his face, and drops of cum slide from his chin down to his jeans.

“Fuck,” he curses as he takes off his stained glasses, trying to clean them without success. “You should have warned me.”

“I should have,” Charles admits. “But, again, you shouldn’t have been rude before.”

Hanks sneers, and places the glasses back in his pocket.

“Are we even, then?” he asks.

Without waiting for an answer, he rises to his feet again, unbuttoning his own jeans that slide easily on the floor.

“Almost.” Charles smiles, and pulls his zip up again. His eyes never leave Hank’s, but the boy just stands there puzzled.

“The second lesson, remember?” he asks eventually, and the sudden, outraged look on Hank’s face answers for him.

“Exactly, Hank, patience.” Charles laughs. “See you tomorrow, after class. And don’t be late.”


	3. Raven

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Raven says, closing the dresser behind her. She runs the rope between her fingers, adjusting the length while she climbs again on the bed where Charles sits naked, waiting.

“ _Him_?” the man asks, almost turning around to check on her.

It was not like Raven to waste time chatting: they had never been the kind of siblings that confess each other’s secrets, and she had always refused to talk while they had sex, as if not hearing his voice could help her forget she was fucking her brother. This time, however, her tone is casual, and so Charles just waits for her answer with genuine curiosity.

“The new guy,” she says at last.

She raises on her knees to wrap the rope around Charles’ chest, and her round, pink nipples press on his back as her hands bustle in the front to thread the cord in an elaborate pattern.

“I wouldn’t call him that,” Charles points out, immediately. He bends his neck to the side allowing the cord to slide on it, before continuing: “It’s been almost three months since–”

His voice stops abruptly. The rope tightens around him and almost burns his skin with friction. He doesn’t turn, but, still, he feels Raven’s eyes piercing him from behind, and the way the hemp bites his shoulder convinces him to let go.

“He’s interesting,” he says, and the cord relaxes again.

“You’re such a child.”

Her voice is annoyed, but her touch is still gentle as she bends up his arms to wrap them with the rope. She pins his wrist to his back, then tugs on the cord to make sure it’s tight enough.

“You like him,” she says suddenly.

This time, Charles really tries to turn around in protest. Raven, however, tightens the rope again and shoves him back straight.

“I didn’t mean _that_ , Charles.”

She gives the rope a last tug, and, finally, she turns around Charles to look at her work: the hemp runs all over his chest, forming a star-like pattern that wraps around his naked torso and neck.

“What you _like_ ,” she continues teasingly, leaning forward to run her hands on Charles knees then slowly moving up his inner thighs, “is how he doesn’t care for you, how he doesn’t fall for you like the others.”

Charles just stares at her. Her thumbs are buried on his pubes, gently pressing on the soft skin on his groin. Every movement sends small shivers of pleasure along his spine, and the way his cock is hardening makes it difficult for him to focus.

“You are still a child,” she says again, “a child that wants everybody to like him.”

She moves a hand up, brushing her fingers on Charles’ penis, then following the line of his stomach up to his chest. Her digits wrap gently around his neck, but when her thumb pushes on his throat, the hand is not hers anymore.

“Raven,” Charles says gently, as the finger moves up bending his head slightly.

Erik’s face is inches from him, his naked body leaning on Charles exactly how Raven’s had been just a moment before. His mouth towards his neck, baring his teeth as he approaches his skin.

“Raven,” Charles says again, this time more firmly, “remember the rules.”

The man halts suddenly: his lips are now so close to Charles’ neck that he can feel his own breathing on it, but he doesn’t move any further; he doesn’t move backward, either, apparently considering what Charles would do to stop him; eventually, he just straightens himself back up, and pouts.

“Fine,” Erik says, turning back to Raven. “But don’t expect me to be gentle.”

She leans forward her bedside table and returns with a strip of soft, black silk that she uses to carefully blind Charles.

“You know you don’t _have_ to do this, right?” the man asks.

Raven places a brief kiss on the border of his mouth as a silent answer, then pushes his back on the bed, that softly bounces under his weight.

“Stop talking,” she says, hissing herself on her hand as she climbs on him, “or I’ll find another way to shut your mouth.”

Charles winces under her weight, but Raven just rolls her eyes to the ceiling and straddles his waist with her legs, slowly rocking her hips forward. She slides on his dick, rubbing her clit on his erection to let her fluids cover the whole length, then she raises again to help him inside her, heaving herself on his cock and throwing her head back in pleasure as she swallows it whole.

Her hand grabs the knot on Charles’ chest, and tugs on it to help her movements. The rope tenses on his skin, digging the flesh in his shoulder and chest. He arches his back, and she pulls even harder, slamming herself against his dick. Charles’ hips move up, meeting Raven’s movements, and he pants and moans as he bites his lips to resist the pain.

Suddenly, she curls forward to nibble on Charles’ ear, still thrusting forward. Her nails mark his neck, go down on his shoulders while her lips follow the red trails and hair softly caress his skin. She kisses his collarbone one last time, then grabs the rope again to ride him faster. Her muscles tightens around him as her climax builds up, and her power suddenly wears off when she loses focus in her orgasm, turning blue again as she comes. Panting, she rests her head on Charles’ chest, and stops to catch her breath, but it isn’t long before she moves again, rocking on him until, with a last moan, he arches his back and cums inside her.

He is still panting when Raven gets back to her feet, and walks away without giving him another look.

“I’m taking a shower now,” she says. "If you don't move, maybe, I’ll free you sooner.”


	4. Erik

Erik doesn’t know the room he is in, or even how, or why he is there; on second thought, he isn’t even sure he is the person standing in his place, though that man does surely look a lot like him. Everything around him is covered in darkness. No lamps, or candles, or windows are there to light the room, and furniture is merely a shadow against walls that seem to stretch on forever. Oddly, the only light almost seems to radiate from the man knelt at his feet, pale and unnatural as if the moon itself shone on his skin, and so staggering that Erik can do nothing but stare.

The man is coughing. He coughs, retches, and coughs again, his hands clutching his knees as his shoulders rise and fall with his heavy breathing. He is bent forward, sapped, his hair grazing the floor as thick, white trickles run down his face, like tears collecting on his chin before dripping on the floor between his legs.

And then, Erik smiles. He doesn’t know why he does, but he smiles, satisfied; he stoops and kneels beside the man, closes one hand around his neck and pushes his thumb on the soft cleft below it. Slowly, the finger rises against the line of the his throat, skin sliding on skin, presses against the trachea and forcing the man’s back to rise as well, until his eyes don’t look at the floor anymore but at him.

“You’re more beautiful than ever,” Erik says, and he knows he means it.

Charles doesn’t move. He swallows against the finger that holds him up, and just stares at Erik through the hair now stuck to the mixture of sweat and cum on his face. His expression is blank and all his features rigid, except for his lips that tremble against his ragged breath.

“How long have we been going at this?” Erik asks him gently as he lovingly caresses the hair out of his face. “What more do I have to do before you stop me?”

He smiles again. His hands move to cup Charles’ cheeks, and his thumb slides on the bloody crack on his lips as he waits for him to answer. Charles, however, never does. If it wasn’t for his breath brushing on his finger, Erik would almost think him to be dead.

“I’ve seen you with those people, you know?” Erik asks again, after a while. “I’ve seen how they look at you, like you’re–"

He staggers. Various words form in his mind, but they all seem to die in his troath.

"...like you’re theirs,” he adds eventually.

He bites his own lips, still waiting for a reaction. When Charles doesn’t move, he straddles his legs with his own as he leans forward to kiss him in frustration: he pushes his tongue past Charles’ lips, rocking their bodies, one against the other; his hands move down to his neck, and he pulls him in a deeper, rougher kiss while his fingers crawl on his skin with such strength that Charles’ breath is taken away once more.

“You like this, don’t you?”

Charles is breathing even harder than before, his lips swollen and his cheeks red. Again, he doesn’t answer, but this time Erik doesn’t seem to mind.

“You like this,” the man laughs. “You like being treated like a whore, that’s why you won’t stop them.”

He kisses him again. Soon their bodies are rocking together once more, but this time Charles’ moves on his own.

“That’s why you won’t stop me,” Erik adds as he pushes back suddenly, panting. “It’s not that you care, Charles, you want this.”

His lips close on Charles’ once more, and this time his fingers slides down on his chest to curl around his cock. Erik’s hand slides on it, pushing the skin up and down while he keeps Charles close with his free arm. He smiles as Charles breath turns into moans against his mouth, and he almost bursts into laughter again when Charles’ hands move to his back for support and his nails sink into him.

“ _Whore,_ ” he says in Charles’ mouth, and Charles moans against him, rocking his hips on his legs as he looks for more friction.

Erik’s hand moves faster. He rubs his thumb on Charles’ cock, teasing the skin under his glans and spreading precum all over it. Soon, Charles’ back arches under him and he comes, screaming, exhausted. He crawls back, unsteady, too worn out to keep himself up, but Erik’s arm keeps him in place and he just lies on it, panting as Erik cleans his hand on his face, spreading his own cum on it.

“Why?” Erik asks again, his voice unsteady with rage. “Why won’t you stop this? Why won’t you let me hate you? Why won’t you just let me think you are an horrible person that doesn’t des **–** ”

He stops as Charles finds the strength to move forward, bringing his trembling lips to Erik’s hear.

“You do realize it, don’t you, Erik?” he asks in a whisper. “That this is a dream?”


	5. The Hellfire Club

A red drop runs down the rim, but Shaw stops it with his thumb before it can reach the floor.

“This might as well be my favorite pastime now,” he says casually as he lifts the glass to observe the crystal sediment settle on its bottom. “One sure does need a break from world conquest.”

Next to him, Riptide smirks. He is leaning on the same armchair Shaw sits on, quietly waiting for his turn. It was always up to Shaw to decide how things would go down, and he had learned long ago not to be impatient because, eventually, Shaw always knew how to make people happy.

“I have to admit though,” the man continues, taking the decanter along with him as he gets up, “it would not be as perfect without a good glass of wine.”

He smiles, crouching next to Charles who grovels on the floor, kneeling over Azazel that sits behind him, keeping his ass hauled up as he fucks him. His arms are bounded to his chest by a leather corset that runs up to his neck, and so his head rests on the floor as his strength is not enough for him to stand.

“Do you know, Charles, what they say about wine?” Shaw asks, sipping on his glass.

He waits for the taste to spread in his mouth before answering the question himself.

“It tastes better when you drink it with friends.”

One of his fingers slides under Charles’ jaw, forcing his chin up. A small gesture and Azazel wraps his tail around Charles neck, hoisting him up.

“Stick that tongue out,” Shaw orders, and Charles obeys.

He holds the decanter up in the air, tilting it until the wine falls off the rim. Slowly, he pours the wine in, and the liquid gently slides down Charles’ throat as he drinks it. His whole body shakes with the effort of keeping himself straight as he gulps it down, and each movements makes his muscles clench around Azazel’s dick so that they both squirm.

“Get this on my shoes and I’ll have you _lick_ them clean,” Shaw says, as the container tilts even further.

Charles winces as the flow suddenly increases. A red trickle dribbles down his chin and neck, but he swallows again, trying not to spill any. The alcohol slowly fills his mouth and soon he can do nothing but throw his head forward, forcing it all down in a single gulp. His eyes fill with tears as the alcohol burns his insides, and his stomach retches in protest.

“What happened?” Shaw asks as Charles coughs. “I thought you liked it.”

Charles has barely had enough time to catch breath again when Azazel hauls him up again once more.

“We’ll have to give you a drink that fits you better then,” Shaw says, spinning on his heels to lift himself back up.

He gestures Riptide to come forward, and the man obeys. Azazel moves inside Charles once again, Riptide’s walking is purposely slowly. When he finally reaches, Charles is moaning and panting again.

He slides a hand through his hair, then shoves him forward to rub his face on his pants. Charles’ lips trace the contour of his erection, and each one of his groans make it grow harder as his moist breath sends shiver along the man’s spine. Soon, Charles bares his teeth to nibble on it, hungry for more, and Riptide laughs as he quickly unbuckles his belt. His fingers are already on his pants when Shaw stops him.

“Let him do it.”

Azazel chuckles. He curls his hand around Charles penis, stroking him as he increases the rhythm of his thrusts. Charles arches his back in pleasure, and for some time all he can do is moan even harder against Riptide’s cock.

“Are you deaf?” Azazel asks in his ear, pulling him closer with his tail.

He shoves him forward again, and Charles finds himself leaning again on Riptide’s groin, his neck now free. Trembling, he summons all his strength, trying to haul himself further up so that he can reach the button and work it open with his teeth and tongue. Finally, he succeeds. Riptide’s pants slide off his legs on the floor, and Charles takes his cock in his mouth to suck him off. Azazel, however, kisses his back and Riptide’s penis slips from Charles’ mouth as he moans again.

“Focus, Charles, focus.” Shaw laughs from his chair, pouring himself more wine.

Riptide thrusts in him again, shoves his cock in his mouth as Charles sucks sloppily on it, groaning and panting. Saliva  trickles down his chin, and each twist of his tongue around the erection makes more and more spit run over his lips.

It takes all his strength not to fall down when he comes: he moves backward just in time, laying on Azazel for support as his hips thrust forward and his muscles clench around the dick inside him. Soon, Azazel comes too, biting Charles’ shoulder as he spills inside him.

Charles has barely had time to catch his breath, when Riptide takes him up again by his hair, just as Azazel gets off him and leaves him kneeling on the floor. He pushes his cock to his lips again, and uses his other hand to get himself off on his face, coming all over his mouth. White trickles run down Charles' cheeks, following the line of his neck down to his chest.

“You’re such a mess, Charles,” Shaw says, serious, smoothly rising off his char. “You call that a blowjob?”

He runs his hand through Charles' hair, now free from Riptide’s grasp, and smirks at him from above. Without further notice, he hoists him up again, forcing his mouth on his cock and running his lips all along the length before pushing it in his mouth.

“Move that tongue,” he says and Charles obeys.

Shaw heaves him up and down his cock, and Charles’ tongue twists around it, working carefully despite his exhaustion. He feels the erection on the back of his throat, the blood pulsing on it while Shaw grows closer to his orgasm.

“Don’t try to spit it out,” Shaw says, and pushes Charles head forward as he finally comes.

When he lets Charles’ head go, the man falls coughing on the floor immediately, unable to keep himself up on his own.

“Don’t slack off,” Shaw says buttoning his pants again. “We’re not finished.”

A grin that Charles’ can’t see forms on his mouth.

”Emma owes me a favour... more than one, actually,” he explains, slowly circling around him. “She was very sad she couldn’t be here today, by the way.”

There’s something casual in his tone that Charles knows not to take as a good sign. He lifts his head to look at him, coughing again.

“Anyway,” Shaw continues. “She has kindly accepted to invite one of your friends here for you. The guy I met that time... What was his name again?”

“Erik,” Charles mouths, suddenly panicked. “Shaw, remember the rules!”

“Don’t worry, nothing will happen to him,” Shaw laughs.

“I heard he is very reserved – kind of has a stick up his ass, if you allow me the expression,” he shrugs. “I only mean to teach him how to have a good time.”

“Shaw,” Charles calls him again. “Remember the rules: you’re not allowed to use your powers to–”

The sound of the door opening cuts him short.


	6. End

There’s something in Erik’s eyes as he steps in the room that scares Charles. At first, they are vacant, his whole body still acting outside of his own control; then, they change back into focus, but there is no trace of surprise, or anger, or even lust. There’s nothing, and nothing scares Charles far more than all the rest could ever.

“Erik!” Shaw says, turning on his heels to face him. “We were just talking about you.”

Erik ignores him, his eyes fixed on Charles who just looks back speechlessly, suddenly aware of his own messy appearance: he is still naked, kneeling on the floor, cum and sweat dripping on his face; his hands are bound to his sides, and no matter how hard he tries to slide his arms out of the corset, the leather doesn’t budge.

"I'm sorry we had to invite you like this, but your friend here would have protested way too much if he knew,” Shaw says with fake contrition. “No worries, though, you can see we know how to keep him in its pl–"

The sound of metal clashing on the floor interrupts him. He whirls around to find the wine tray still rattling, and the red liquid spreading all over the carpet, but he hasn’t even had time to realize what’s happening before Charles reacts.

“Azazel!” he says. “Get out of here, take the others with you!”

The order catches them by surprise, but they can’t even think about protesting. Their departure is strangely quiet, but neither Charles nor Erik pay it any attention.

“Erik,” Charles pleads.

He thinks about getting up, reaching for him, but his body feels suddenly heavy, and his legs shake so hard he can barely keep himself straight as he speaks. “Erik, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

The man doesn’t answer. Charles isn’t even sure he is listening, but he calls for him again.

“Erik!” he says. “Erik, please, say somet-”

He stops as Erik reaches him and kneels down, never breaking the eye contact. He takes his hand up, and moves it so close to Charles’ face that the man feels his own skin burning with the anticipation of contact. Erik’s fingers, however, have merely brushed his hair when he takes it back, suddenly unable to carry on with his own gesture. He swings his hand back down, his fist clenched to the point his knuckles are so white that Charles worries he would end up crushing his own bones.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, painfully aware that it means nothing.

It seems like an eternity before Erik speaks again.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he asks.

“This group–” Charles begins, but Erik cuts him off.

“Fuck you, Charles,” he yells, tugging his arm. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“I’m not a leader, Erik” Charles says. “I’m not fit to lead, or give orders, or... It’s the only way to keep them together.”

“But you don’t need them,” Erik says. “You owe nothing to them, nothing!”

“They are my friends.”

“Are they?” Erik asks.

“Are they?” he asks again, raising his voice. “Is Shaw your friend too, Charles? Is that why he ties you, and fucks you, and treats you like his whore?”

“That’s because I want him to.”

“You want him to? Goddammit, Charles, listen to yo–”

“I’m listening!” Charles yells. “I _am_ listening.”

“You’re crazy,” Erik says. “You’re all crazy. Each one of you.”

“We are not, Erik, let me e–”

"Don't," Erik interrupts him. "Don't try and feed me more excuses. You think I’ve never heard them? You think I haven’t heard them my whole fucking life?”

“I don’t know what you–” Charles says, but the words die in his mouth as the corset he’s wearing tightens around his body.

“ _‘I have to do this, Erik, it’s for your own protection’_ , she said.” Erik continues, unaware of what he himself is doing.

“Erik, pl–” Charles tries to say, the metal buckles now cutting so deep in his own flesh he fears they are going to crush his bones.

“ _‘You’ll understand one day, Erik, when you are older’_ , she said.”

“Stop, you’re hur–”

“Well, I am older and I still don’t understand,” Erik says over him again. “I don’t understand why she had to, and I don’t understand why you, of all people, would be willing–”

 _'Stop!'_ Charles screams. This time, however, his mouth doesn’t move. Erik’s eyes grow vacant once more, just for a split second, but it’s enough for him to release Charles that falls on the floor, his whole body – still shaking with pain – not supporting him anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Charles says, and that’s the last thing he remembers.


	7. Epilogue

The air is chilly, and Charles’ hands are cold from waiting outside in the snow. He is sitting on a low wall, smiling distractedly as passerby come and go, running around without giving him a second glance.

“You were already gone when I came looking for you,” he says when the one he was waiting for approaches him.

He jumps down the low wall he’s sitting on, lifting his hand up as a timid greet.

“And I thought you never left that school,” Erik says coldly.

He is wearing a long parka, and his expression looks so grumpy that Charles can do nothing but laugh.

“It’s Christmas!” he says. “I’m sure they can survive without me for a couple of days.”

Erik doesn’t smile back.

“Why did you call me?” he asks bluntly as if the question had been stuck in so long that it just couldn’t wait anymore.

“I don’t know,” Charles says. “Maybe I wanted to check you were doing alright, maybe I wondered why you were the only one that ever tried to stop me...”

He lets the question hang, but Erik doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at Charles, apparently considering whether he thinks him sincere, but the man just stares back candidly and when Erik speaks he is as puzzled as ever.

“You’re better than you think you are,” he says eventually. “You are a good leader. People would follow you anyway.”

Charles’s kiss catches him by surprise. It’s not a long kiss, and a chaste one for sure, but Charles’s lips are so hot against his that for a moment Erik can’t do anything but close his eyes and give in to it. He almost leans forward to kiss him again when he backs off, but all he can do is just murmur.

“Why?” he asks.

“To thank you, I guess,” Charles says.

He turns around, looking away from Erik, suddenly interested in kicking the snow around. They stay quiet for a while, each immersed in their own thoughts, and it is Erik that finally breaks the silence.

“Will you stop?” he asks.

Charles freezes abruptly, but soon he is kicking the snow again.

“No,” he says without lifting his head. “I won’t.”

Another pause.

“This is goodbye again, then,” Erik says as he walks away.

He has barely walked for a couple of meters when he turns around, and secretly he is pleased to see Charles now looking at him.

“You know,” Erik says as he stands in the snow. “Maybe if things were different, maybe if we were in some other universe, all this could have ended differently.”

“I hope so, my friend,” Charles says with a smile.  “I hope so.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it. I wasn't expecting it to be this long when I took it up, and surely not this insightful.  
> It was written on a rush. I'd have taken way more time to rewrite various parts if I could, which eventually means I would have never actually published it. All in all, it's better this way.  
> Hope you haven't cringed too much on the writing, and, if you have, just take the sex and run it in your imagination, which is the most powerful and beautiful writer out there. It writes the scenes just the way you want them to be, go figure.  
> I have a lot of people to thank for helping me through this, but I can't name them now or I'll give myself away. You all know, however, that this would have been a lot sloppier without you, and probably a lot less clever. If you enjoyed this, thank them with me because they had at least 12% of the merit (got the reference? Ah!).  
> I have a lot of things to say about the characters here. This story, just like X-men itself, is a clash of different lives that have led to different ideals and perceptions. No one here is perfect, and no one is meant to be the sole possessor of the truth.  
> The only thing I cared about writing this was not giving the perception that Charles fucks everyone because he is insecure. He isn't. Of course the speech at the beginning is a rationale that helps him cope, and of course, deep inside, he feels the truth is much closer to what he says at the end ("It's the only way I can keep them together"). Feeling something as the truth, however, doesn't make it true. Charles does what he thinks is right, not for himself, but for the greater good: it's not a way to feel better; it's not a way to escape frustrations with sex; it stems from deep inside, and as such it hinges on fears and insecurities, but it's not them. Eventually, he and Erik butts heads because they are both very confident people, despite their neurosis.  
> So, all in all, there's only two things I want you to take back from reading this.  
> Never let your uncertainties define you.  
> And, also, five chapters of porn.
> 
> Merry Christmas.
> 
> \-----
> 
> [Trivia]
> 
>   * The tile is of course a pun on "All the President's Men". 
>   * I totally wrote Hank's chapter just to get cum on his glasses. You can thank me in the comments. Or not. I didn't do it for you anyway.
>   * Riptide not talking in chapter 5 is a tribute to X-Men: First Class. Like, seriously. It's the little stuff that makes me proud. Or crazy. Your call.
>   * The original words count was 6606. I added a couple of sentences to make it 6666, just because. Are you still certain I'm not crazy?
> 



End file.
